


Jack, Dean and Sam

by phantisma



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 10:24:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Christmas after Sammy goes away to Stanford, Dean’s hunting a poltergeist, and thinks about his brother and what holidays mean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jack, Dean and Sam

It doesn’t matter where he is, or really whether he has someone in his life or not. Not that he generally does. There was that girl for a few months, the one with the pretty smile and long arms who wanted him to stay and who he almost wanted to stay with…but in the end, he’d moved on.

It doesn’t matter if it’s Christmas, or Easter or Groundhog’s Day. Not Valentine’s day…because Dean Winchester does not do Valentines day, not by any stretch of even Sam’s overactive girly imagination…but all the rest…somehow at some point through the day, Dean thinks about Sam.

This time he’s in Boise, of all places. There’s a poltergeist or something ruining any business that sets up shop in a strip mall’s end spot and the latest owner was a friend of their father’s…and with John off on whatever insane mission had taken him off this time, it fell to Dean.

It’s Christmas Eve, and the store is thankfully not all over done with holly and garland and twinkling lights. It is, after all a gun store, not some overpriced boutique. He hunkers down behind the counter and waits for the fun to start, thinking briefly that maybe he should have brought a flak jacket because it was, after all a gun store, with a poltergeist. Yeah. Smart.

This was the part of the hunt Dean hated. At least now that he’s alone. With Sam off to college there is no one to tease or banter with…or, as had become more common in the months before Sam left, make out with.

Dean shakes it off and thinks about where Sam is and what he might be doing right now. It’s Christmas Eve, and in true Winchester tradition, Dean and his father are both hunting and Sam? Sam is probably at some frat party doing Jello shots.

“Snap out of it,” he says out loud into the quiet of the store. He needs to be concentrating, not mooning over Sam. Sam’s been gone for four months, and Dean needs to learn to just let go.

Dean presses his back up against the display behind him. As kids, they had made up their own traditions for the various holidays as a way to keep them entertained. Easter was a prank day, the lead in or climax to April Fool’s Day, depending on where it fell in the year. Sam had turned July 4th into “Get Dean Laid Day” for a while, and that was…fun.

Halloween they stayed in and watched movies and made fun of them. Thanksgiving was a feast day…they made an entire meal out of chocolate. Once Sammy had even found them a chocolate turkey.

For Christmas they would scrounge around whatever motel or apartment they were staying at and find goofy things to give one another, wrapping them up in whatever paper they had to hand and exchanging them at midnight.

Dean glances at his watch. It’s almost midnight now. Without thinking he flips open his phone and dials Sam’s number. It rings twice and he hangs up. Who is he kidding? Sam doesn’t want to hear from him.

Suddenly in a fiercely foul mood Dean drops the phone and sighs. “Okay…you fucking poltergeist or spirit or whatever the fuck, I’m seriously done with this. Show your face.”

Of course, nothing happens.

Dean decides that what he really needs right this minute is a drink…poltergeist be damned. It’s Christmas Eve and he doesn’t have Sam to distract him and there’s a bottle of Jack in the car. And, Jack is a Christmas tradition of its own. He pulls himself up and out from behind the counter, pushing his way out the door. It’s fucking cold and his breath his hot, steaming the air…but not enough to hide the long, lanky figure leaning against the Impala.

“The fuck?” Dean asks abruptly, angrier now than he’d been inside and really wanting that drink now.

“Merry Christmas to you too, Dean.” Sam says with a smirk.

“How’d you find me?” Dean recovers from the shock and moves to the Impala’s trunk, opening it and rummaging around for the half bottle of Jack he knows is back there somewhere.

“Dad told me.”

Dean stands up too fast and whacks his head on the trunk. “Ow! Dad?”

Sam comes around the side and reaches for him, but Dean pulls away. “Yeah, you know…the man who dragged us around the country for years, the one I fight with, the one you obey without question? Dad.”

Dean scowls and fists the neck of the bottle before opening it and taking a long swig, followed by another. “Thought you two weren’t speaking.” And then a third.

Sam frowns and shrugs. “Aren’t really. I didn’t say I talked to him.”

“Sam.” Dean growls it, a lot harder than he intended.

“Okay, I still have the pass code to your voice mail. I got it off his message to you.”

Dean rolls his eyes and slams the trunk shut. “Why are you here?”

“I can leave, if you’re too busy.” Sam says, hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “I just wanted to see you, Dean.”

“Didn’t seem too worried about that when you left in September.” Dean drank from the bottle, swallowing until the burn faded and headed back into the store. “I got a job to do.”

“Yeah…cause drinking on a hunt is such a wise idea.” Sam countered. He was back to leaning on the Impala. “Be an ass if you want. I just came to give you this.”

He sets a small, newspaper wrapped package on the hood and starts to walk away. Dean stops and turns, his eyes on the package, then Sam’s back. “Hey…Sam…stop.”

Dean sighs, and grabs the package, following Sam. “Sam…I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I am an ass.” The anger is draining, replaced by the lonely ache that had been a part of him since Sam left.

Sam stops finally, turning to face Dean and it’s easy to see where all of the anger has gone. It’s there in the flashing green of Sam’s eyes. “You are an ass. I stole a fucking car to get here Dean. I’ve been driving for two days in a fucking car because I wanted to see my big brother for Christmas. Christ!”

“Come back to the car, Sam. We’ll have a drink. I’ve got something for you too.” Dean cajoles, his hand reaching for Sam’s. “Let me apologize.” The touch of Sam’s hand in his is like a jolt of electricity right through his body. He hands off the bottle of jack and leads Sam back to the car. “Just sit here. I gotta get it. Wasn’t expecting you.”

Dean leaves the package from Sam on the hood of the car and goes to the back seat. It was a silly tradition, and it had never been about the gifts before….it had been about the creativity…making up new uses for old things…spyglasses made out of toilet paper rolls, curtain rods beaten into swords…but this year was different. Tradition was tradition, Dean didn’t buy this gift…it just had more meaning and probably was a lot less creative. He finds it, wrapped in the funnies from a newspaper in Des Moines and backs out of the car.

“Here.” Dean says, handing it back to Sam who’s perched on the hood of the car.

“Is it midnight?”

Dean looks at his watch and nods. “Just.”

“Open yours.” Sam says softy, nudging it toward him.

Dean nods and reaches for it, his eyes still on the colorful package now resting in Sam’s lap. At first glance, it’s a sewing kit, but as Dean angles it into the halo of light spilling from the parking lot light, he can see that everything in it has been replaced with surgical grade materials. “I met a few med students and they helped me put it together.” Sam says softly. “It small enough to keep in the glove box.”

“It’s great Sam.” Dean responds, his voice sounding thick and he’s touched by the gift, but doesn’t want to get all chick-flick over it. “Open yours.” Dean doesn’t watch, doesn’t want this to get all mushy and sentimental, but it will anyway, cause it’s Sam and so when Sam gasps, Dean can’t help but look up.

“Dean-“

Dean holds up a hand and shakes his head. “No returning, those are the rules.”

“I can’t take this, Dean.”

Dean takes a swig from the bottle and waves his finger at him. “Yes you can.”

Sam lifts the knife and holds it to the light. It was a thing of beauty, perfectly balanced, absolutely sharp. It had been with Dean since he was 15 and he’d ended up on the unarmed end of a knife fight with some bullies. Like the Impala, it had been their father’s before that. “Thank you.” Sam finally says before sheathing it. He reaches for the bottle and as their fingers brush together, Dean’s cock twitches.

As if he can see it, Sam smirks. “Damn your easy, Dean.”

Dean smacks him in the arm. “I haven’t been laid in weeks, dude.” It’s been longer than that…four months…since the night Sam left…since the frantic goodbye fuck in the Impala parked in the long term parking of the airport. But he won’t tell Sam that.

“Yeah…me too.” Sam says before he swallows.

Dean watches his long neck…and remembers how Sam tastes…how it feels when he swallows while Dean’s lips are wrapped around that Adam’s apple…Dean licks his lips and drags his eyes away. He feels Sam slip off the hood, feels Sam’s hands pulling, tugging…then his lips. Dean groans as Sam’s tongue invades his mouth, dripping Jack and _Sam_ into him, like liquid heat that he swallows down and it burns a path straight to his groin where it’s joined by Sam’s hand pressing in on his cock.

“Jesus Sam…we’re in public.”

“Sort of.” Sam agrees, looking around them. “It’s after midnight on Christmas eve. No one’s watching.”

“Cameras.” Dean pants, clutching Sam’s shirt to keep from sliding down his brother’s body as his knees don’t seem inclined to hold him suddenly. “Car.”

Then they’re both moving into the car, pulling at clothes and fighting for position. Sam’s got Dean’s jeans open and his hand inside them, his breath hissing in Dean’s ear. “Want to fuck you, Dean. Can I?”

And Dean can’t help but nod, no sharp words or witty replies because the Jack has all gone to his head and all he can come up with is _God yes_ and _please_ and _don’t leave me again_ …and just like that, Sam’s got Dean down face first on the back seat, his pants down just enough to expose his ass and Sam’s on top, pulling the door closed. There’s no room and it’s cold against the leather, but Sam’s body heat is more than enough to make Dean start to sweat.

Dean pushes back against the fingers as Sam preps him, works him open and then moves them both enough that he can get the head of his cock lined up. The car is filled with moaning, though Dean isn’t sure which one of them is doing it….he does his best to relax as Sam fills him, pushing slowly and steadily into Dean’s ass and then out again.

“Fuck Sammy…harder…go harder.”

“Yeah…yeah…hold on.” Sam moves them both a little more, sliding Dean’s left leg off the seat and forward, giving him more space and just like that he slides in against Dean’s prostrate and they buck upward together. “Thought about this since California, Dean.” Sam says as he starts moving faster. “Wanted this since Thanksgiving. I saw you.”

Dean starts at that, because he hadn’t meant for Sam to know he’d been there. “You should have come up…I would have made it worth your while.” Sam’s fingers are on Dean’s hips now, pulling him back and up onto Sam’s cock.

Dean’s got no words left, and the whimpering sounds coming from his throat as his cock drags across the leather seats aren’t anything he’ll ever admit to…Sam was the one who liked to talk dirty anyway…”Fuck.” Dean finally manages, as Sam’s thrusts turn nearly savage. His fingers are curled around the edge of the seat and Sam’s hand presses under him to palm his cock…there isn’t enough room to really jack him off, but Dean doesn’t think that’s gonna matter in the long run.

“Gonna come in your ass, Dean.” Sam hisses just seconds before he does just that. Dean isn’t far behind, letting out a long, growling moan as he comes against the seat and Sam’s hand, losing himself in the sensation and riding it close to oblivion.

A few minutes pass and he can feel Sam moving, pulling out, adjusting Dean’s jeans to cover his ass…but between the Jack and the fucking, Dean can’t seem to make himself move…it’s too warm and he’s too sated.

His next real awareness is hours later, when the car has gone cold and there’s no sound of his brother’s breathing. Dean moves, rolls to the side. Sam is no where to be seen and daylight is coming. He could almost believe it was all a dream…but for the come he can still feel in his ass, and the sewing kit on the floor beside him.

There’s a note stuck under the windshield wiper when he finally rouses himself out of the car.

_Dean… Merry Christmas. I took care of your poltergeist for you. Next holiday’s on you. Sammy._

Dean reached under the passenger seat for the atlas and plotted a route to Palo Alto, California from Boise, with a short stop along the way to deal with a black dog he’d gotten a call about in Nevada.

Winchester boys made their own holidays…and Dean was fairly certain that New Years was going to be about payback.


End file.
